Dear Diary,
Well, well, well… the elves thought they could sneak an extra cookie from Mrs. Claus’s famous peppermint batch. Rookie mistake! I’ve been doing this for centuries—I can hear a cookie jar lid from three sleigh-lengths away. Sprinkles tried to blame the reindeer, but Dasher doesn’t even like peppermint. Nice try, though.
Speaking of reindeer, Prancer’s been practicing his runway strut again. He says it’s for “sleigh balance,” but I suspect he’s angling for a solo spotlight on Christmas Eve. I told him if he wants center stage, he’ll need to outshine Rudolph’s nose. Good luck with that, sparkle hooves.
Meanwhile, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror today—red suit, twinkle in the eye, cookie crumbs in the beard. Classic. I winked and said, “Still got it.” Mrs. Claus rolled her eyes and muttered something about humble pie. I prefer mince.
Off to check the Naughty List. I swear it gets longer every time someone discovers glitter glue!
